


When Henry Met Howlies

by ChibiSquirt



Series: Before and After (In a Long, Long Life) [4]
Category: Blood-Smoke Series - Tanya Huff, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Henry Fitzroy is the Gift that Keeps On Giving, Humor, M/M, Too much fun had writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/pseuds/ChibiSquirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Gabe lets out a low whistle that could be mistaken, if you're particularly bad at ornithology, for a bird call, and Bucky and Jacques come pelting into camp.  "Oh, thank god," is the first thing Bucky says when they see him, and Jacques nods fervently. </em>
</p><p>  <em>"And why did you two came running back in here like our house was on fire?" demands Dum Dum, looking concerned.</em></p><p>  <em>" 'Cause we thought the house was on fire," says Bucky grimly.  "That prisoner they're going to be transporting?  The word in the village is, they've captured Captain America."</em></p><p>Spoiler alert:  They haven't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW only in the third (probably last, assuming that the post-credits scene - which I only thought of as I was going to publish this - is reasonable in length) chapter. Mostly does not require the rest of the series to make sense. This is the "After" story in the series title, separated off because the tone was very different from B&VB, and also because I couldn't resist the _When Harry Met Sally_ reference. 
> 
> This story made me genuinely happy to write; I hope it brings you all some joy, as well. It is not intended to be taken seriously. (That's why I called the first chapter "The Massacre", you see? *self-conscious crickets*)

Dugan lets out a low whistle, looking around at the carnage.

Steve and his team have been sent to destroy a HYDRA facility located two days east of a sleepy town not far from Bremen in Northern Germany, and to bring back any intel they could find there.  At least half of their job has already been done for them. 

Monty takes a couple of steps in from the corridor, pauses, and then takes a few more.  Jacques says something in French, and even though all of their French is getting pretty good at this point, they still habitually look to Gabe for answers.  "He says, 'I thought the loading dock was bad, but this is like something out of a... nightmare.'"  

Bucky just nods, staring at the blood.  

Which is _everywhere;_ that's the first problem.  It's clear that, not only did the people here (scientists, most likely, to judge by the garb and physical appearance) die violently, they died  _quickly,_ as well, throats ripped out while they were standing - the blood spray went all the way to the ceiling - most without time to grab weapons, and with the bodies clumped together like that, Steve would bet that they hadn't even had time to scatter, or run.  Something entered the room by force - the door swung drunkenly off its hinges  _-_ killed everyone in it in seconds, and left with only a few drops of blood marking its trail - as if it had been moving too fast to get sprayed.  

"The door," Jim says, weapon up and ready.  

That's the second problem.  The door, which sways like a lascivious hooker when their bodies pass it, has been torn out of the wall.  Steve looks again, and, no, the hinges aren't torqued, they are  _torn out of the wall._ Which is  _concrete._ Steve adds up the amount of strength required to pull this off, and doesn't much like the answer.

"Gabe," he says, swallowing down his first and second reactions, focusing back on the mission.  "They should have some sort of lab record, a summary of their experiments so far?"

"I'll find it," the man promises.  

"Good man."  

"I see a lot of chemicals," Monty mentions.  "Somewhere, there should be a hood."

"A what?" Steve asks, but Jacques has found it by then, flipping the switch to send air up through the system.  

Gabe nods at them gratefully.  "Well, that should help with the smell, some.  I don't suppose any of these chemical things smell good?" 

Monty pokes at the bottles stored next to the hood, then grabs a dish and pours in a liquid Steve can't see.  The scent of tropical fruit fills the room.

"Corpses mixed with bananas," Jim notes sarcastically.  "Perfect."

Gabe gives Monty a dubious look.  "That isn't hazardous to breathe, is it?" he asks.

"Not even hazardous to eat, at least in small amounts," Monty reassures him.  "Like many esters, it's naturally occurring."

"Useful to know," Steve tells him.  "Thanks."  

They move on.  

The corridor is largely clear; like the receiving dock, there must've been only one or two guards when the disaster had struck.  Steve leaves Monty and Jacques in different offices along the way, Bucky, Dum Dum, and Jim sticking close by his six as he takes stairs, shield raised.  

The next floor is just like this one, though; doors ripped off of hinges, bodies sprawled across desks or, horribly, still sitting in chairs.  By the end of the second floor, Dum Dum and Jim are rifling through the contents of two more offices.  Steve and Bucky follow the footsteps upstairs:  the unknown assailant has gotten messy enough to reveal that he has a somewhat small boot for a man, mostly moving on the front of his feet.  Running.

The third floor is largely empty.  No offices, there, just dorm rooms.  The last of them contains a single bed, not a double or more, and there's a side-table and wardrobe.  There's also one last body, throat torn out so violently that Steve finds a chunk of flesh rotting under the clothes-press.  Blood sprayed out, all over the comforter with its quilted compass design.  But, Steve thinks, heart sinking, there's something wrong with the scene.  

They toss the room because it looks like the equivalent of officer's quarters, finding a couple packs of cigs and a nice bottle of schnapps, but nothing significant.  "Damn it," Bucky says, running a hand through the back of his hair.  "Whoever beat us here, he sure did a number on the place."  

"They didn't toss this room," Steve observes, moving to the window.  The sun has the high, cold look of winter, and illuminates a garden.  Whatever this place is now (HYDRA research facility, from the look of it), once upon a time, it was a very nice country manor house.  There is an arching drive leading up to a flagstone patio in front of the window, where some of the stones are dented and shattered, and Steve gets a mental image of a carriage pulling up there, fancy ladies like Mrs. Dashwood spilling out. 

"Wha - Oh.  No, they didn't," Bucky agrees, "So either they weren't looking for anything, or they knew it wasn't here."

"I don't think they were looking.  Those offices downstairs were pretty tidy until we got there."

"You have an interesting definition of tidy," Buck points out, indicating the gore.  

"That's another thing; there's not enough blood."  Steve turns back into the room, stopping to poke at the dead man's hand with his shoe, noting the presence of HYDRA-insignia ring on the man's hand.  The head of the little octopus has two rubies where the eyes are, and definitely rules out robbery as a motive for their vigilante.  He stops and pulls the ring off, to take to Carter.  As  _evidence,_ damn it, not - It's a ring, it's just - 

Steve sighs.  That conversation hadn't even gone well in his  _mind._

"I must have misheard you," Bucky says, in a flat voice because he knows he didn't.  "I could have sworn you said there wasn't enough blood." 

"Look at the throat, Buck," Steve argues.  "We  _just saw_ more than a dozen rooms with people murdered the same way, only _less_ savagely; but compare the size of _this_ blood spray to _those_."

Bucky is silent as they retrace their steps down the hallway, passing the opposite direction as the bloody boot prints on the floor.  "Well," he finally says as the come to collect Jim and Dum Dum.  "That's just what this needed."

"Yeah, no kidding.  What kind of murderer takes blood home as a trophy?  I mean, I've heard of scalping..."

"You fellas are entirely too grisly," Dum Dum snorts.  "Come on, let's get out of here and let Jacques blow it up.  We'll all feel better."

Gabe and Monty are arguing when they get to the next level, Gabe stubborn in his straightforward way, Monty snide in his.  "What's up?" Bucky asks, because it's his job to wade in when there's disagreement in the troop.  

"This has to have been done by a machine of some sort," Monty insists, gesturing at the damage in the lab.   _"Look_ at that!  No man could do that, not without leaving a blood trail."

"You didn't see those notebooks," Gabe retorts, then faces the Captain.  "They were working on the Serum here, sir.  They were trying to recreate the event that made you.  They don't mention any _human_ testing, but if they'd tried it on an animal first, and that beast got loose?"

Steve looks around the lab again, thinking of the raggedy edges of the man's throat upstairs, torn out by - it certainly looked like - teeth.

"Well, did they mention trying it on animal subjects in those notebooks?" Bucky's asking.  

Gabe's silence goes from angry to embarrassed, and now they're all waiting for his answer.  

Gabe looks at his feet.  "A couple rabbits," he admits.  

Steve gets the mental image first, and giggles.  He's always giggled sometimes, ever since he was a kid, and it always infected those around him, but now it's especially bad because he's  _huge,_ and the sight of this enormous, muscular man giggling like a mad schoolgirl never fails to spread the laughter to those around him.   Bucky catches it next, then Monty and Jacques, and soon, they're all helpless, laughing hysterically in the ruined horror of the house.  Right as they're getting calmed down, though, Steve realizes something and busts out in a fresh round. "You sure you didn't read it wrong, right?  They didn't try it on a couple of  _rabbi?"_

He has no idea why murderous men in skullcaps and ear curls make for a funnier mental image than murderous rabbits, but they really, really do, and the team howls - _heh -_  again.

When the laughter finally dies down, Bucky rounds them all up, passing on the order to head out.  As they go to exit the way they came, though, Steve motions a stop.  "This way, I think.  I want to look at the front, where those gardens are."

"Hey," says Dum Dum, perking up, "Maybe they've got some vegetable gardens tucked away."  They've been provided with rations, but all of them agree with the instinct to hold off on eating those as long as possible.  They might get stuck out here and need them, later, and any way, the damn things taste like rotten shoes.

Between the mention of food and the giggle-session, they're all in a good mood as they march out the front of the house, even without Jacques blowing it up.  Steve stops them on the patio.  "<Hey, Jacques,>" he says in French, "<crouch here like you're landing after a jump.>"  He steers Jacques to where the flagstones are most broken, and they all see what he means.  "There were footsteps upstairs," Steve mentions.  "Where I guess our guy finally got messy.  The stride was too small to be my size, or even Bucky's, by kind of a lot.  <Jacques, how tall are you?>"

"<Five feet six>," comes the answer.  They all look down to where Jacques' feet fit naturally into two of the points where the cracking and breaking of the flagstones is greatest.  Jacques looks behind him, then turns around, stretching his right hand out as if to catch himself, and hits the third perfectly.  

Steve nods, then looks at Monty and Gabe.  "Not a machine," he points out, "and not a rabbit, either, more's the pity.  We definitely have a human attacker, and almost certainly one with enhanced abilities."  A considering pause.  "I suppose it _could_ still be a rabbi," he adds, and gets a chuckle out of them.  He looks up, finding a faint, bloody hand-print on the outside of the second story window where the assailant had left the building; apparently, he'd managed to close it after him on his way out.  "Right now," Steve says, feeling oddly guilty as he says it, "The only guy I know of who could have done this is me."

It feels oddly significant for a moment, but then Jim snorts.  "Nah," he says, "I saw those footprints same as you, you're way too tall."

"Besides," Dum Dum adds, "I know we don't talk about it much, but I think we all know that if you could do it, Sarge here could, too."

"Or, for that matter - and far more likely - Schmidt," Monty puts in.

Jacques rolls his eyes in agreement.  

"Yeah, alright," Steve says. 

"Hey," says Bucky, "Let's go see if they have carrots."

"<Leeks, too; it's been warm enough there may be a second crop.>"

"Wait, hold on, I'll check back in the facility; if there's a wine cellar, we could have stew."

* * *

There is a wine cellar.  The stew is delicious.

* * *

Basically, Steve thinks, they're all really lucky that Bucky was picking up the German so well.  

They're supposed to have checked out the house, sending their findings back with a member of the Resistance they can meet with in the village, then proceeded on to another HYDRA facility, this one a more fortified target, possibly a base, two days north instead of east.  But Steve can't be the one to go into the village and meet their contact, because he's too conspicuous to do that sort of recon.  The same goes for Gabe; Jacques does much better, but has a conspicuous French accent that puts German backs up like _crazy_.  So, all things considered, as in so many times in Steve's life... Thank God for Bucky.  

For some reason, Steve is feeling twitchy tonight.  He's not sure what it is, just a feeling like he's missed something, something he should've seen back at the research-house.  It's like there are eyes on him, aiming at him, except that there  _aren't,_ which he knows because he's  _checked._

It's half an hour later when Gabe lets out a low whistle that could be mistaken, if you're particularly bad at ornithology, for a bird call, and Bucky and Jacques (who had gone with him as silent, emphasis on _silent,_ backup) come pelting into camp.  

"Oh, thank god," is the first thing Bucky says when they see him, and Jacques nods fervently.  They sit down and drink some of the tea Monty's been making from herbs he found in the facility garden.  When they've got their breath back, Jacques says, "Problems."

"Yeah, no kiddin'," agrees Bucky.  "Okay.  First of all, our contact wasn't there."

"What, the guy from the Resistance?" Steve frowns.  

"That's the one.  We did the signal just like normal, but no one came up, and my choices for potentials weren't even looking at us."

The signal is to order a gin and tonic at the bar, a signature drink of the British forces; since the signal gets detected by sitting in the bar watching what people order, some of their resistance contacts have been barmen, and the rest of them have been disguised as drunks.  It's usually pretty easy to spot either one.  

"Then we started asking about how things've been in the village, and we kept getting more and more bad news."  

"<There is a massive force expected in the next three days,>" Jacques says.  "<They have> -" He looks at Bucky. "- <a high-profile prisoner to transport, and the village has been worried about potential quartering.>"

"How big a force?"

"Unknown, but pretty fucking big for the ass end of nowhere, I'm guessing."  Bucky looks very dire.

"And why did you two came running back in here like our house was on fire?" demands Dum Dum, looking concerned.

" 'Cause we thought the house was on fire," says Bucky grimly.  "That prisoner they're going to be transporting?  The word in the village is, they've captured Captain America."

* * *

"No," says Steve.

"We've  _got_ to," argues Bucky.  "I mean, obviously it's not  _you -_ "

"Obviously."

"- But whoever it is, they're pretty fuckin' convinced it  _is_ you.  That means it's _someone_ on our side."

"We don't go rescuing each and every prisoner of war," Steve objects.  "Going off-mission could put the whole thing in jeopardy, and we're hundreds of miles behind enemy lines here.  No one's coming for us if we get captured on an unauthorized, suicidal rescue mission."

"Wouldn't be the first time no one was coming for us," mutters Jim.

"<But this is not just a prisoner of war,>" puts in Jacques.  "<They think this man is you.>"

"And, what, that means I'm _obliged_ to him?  Because I have to tell you, little kids dress up like us on Halloween, and that doesn't mean we get candy -"

"It means he's  _enhanced,"_ Monty realizes.  "No, Captain, I'm sorry, they're right.  Remember the facility two days ago?"  

They've all had trouble forgetting.

"Someone did _that_ , and now the Nazis have captured a man who is an enemy of HYDRA, a man who must be enhanced in order for them to mistake him for you.  Surely, this false Captain is the one who effected that carnage.  We must either bring this man back to the SSR, or put him down before he does it to anyone else."

"Nah, he's not going to do it to anyone else."  Steve's voice is certain, but then he reconsiders.  "Well, not anyone who isn't a Nazi or HYDRA, I mean."

"You know that for certain, Cap?" Jim gives him the neutral look that says  _I think you're full of shit; prove me wrong._ It's one of Steve's favorite looks from him, to be honest.

"Have we found random massacres anywhere?" Steve asks him rhetorically.  "And if you think about it, nothing in that house was all that much worse than what we would've done if we'd gone in guns blazing.  It's a mistake to assume this guy is more brutal than we are; he may just be  _less well-armed."_ Beside him, probably unconsciously, Bucky caresses the energy rifle that has served him so well since he stole it from HYDRA.

"All the more reason," Gabe says quietly, "for him to coordinate his attacks with the SSR."  He meets Steve's eyes.  "Sorry, Cap; we've gotta get him out."

"And what about the mission?" Steve demands, already knowing he's lost the argument.  "We're supposed to be clearing out that facility two days north of here; we can't do both."  Jacques and Bucky are starting to grin, and Steve has a bad feeling he knows why.  "Oh no."

"Well, where else could they hold him?  I mean, there's a giant squad coming _here_ , to a Podunk village in the middle of nowhere, and the only _other_ place that's a possibility around these parts is the one we just came from."  

"Are you  _sure_ about this?  He's definitely there?"

"Well, if he's not, we just complete the mission as planned and miss him," Jim says.  "But you've already said you don't think that's a problem."

Steve scowls, caught.

"Hey, be serious a moment, Steve."  Bucky is looking a little scared, and Steve instinctive moves closer.  "These guys apparently have a cell that's capable of holding you.  They're expecting to see you walking around loose, because they've  _got_ to be expecting 'you' to try'n escape.  And they were able to capture 'you' in the first place."  He meets Steve's eyes, and keeps his voice matter-of-fact, but the feat comes through underneath, anyway.  "You _can't_ go."

"You've gotta be kidding me!  I ain't letting ya go in alone!" 

"He's entirely correct, Captain," Monty cuts in.  "You'll be recognized instantly.  Good for our mysterious captive, I suppose, but less good for the rest of us."

"Plus, he's gotta kinda look like you, right?  I mean, those posters of you are everywhere, they've got to have seen one.  What if we get you mixed up?"

"I'm pretty sure you could tell us apart, since I'm most of a foot taller," Steve says, and it's probably not fair of him to use that much sarcasm, but he's hot under the collar and ready to take heads, over here.  "I can't just tell my whole troop to go waltzing off without me while I have a powder!" he tells them.

And that's the root of the problem right there.  He can't let other people handle his problems for him; never has been able to, and never will.

"<Actually, you do that all the time,>" says Jacques in a clipped voice, and they all goggle at him.  "<In reverse.  Or what else would you call it, when you go ahead of us into one set of danger, leaving us to face whatever is behind?  You can never know that they don't have a reserve force.  This is nothing you've never done before.>"  

They all look to Gabe for the translation, which he gives, cringing a little at the look on Steve's face.  Steve's lips are  _white,_ pressed so hard against all the things he wants to say that there's a muscle jumping in his cheek.  

"Fine," he bites out finally.  "Do you have a plan?"

"Oh, I've got a plan alright!"  chortles Dugan.

Dum Dum has been behind him most of the argument, doing something with the packs.  When Steve turns, he sees the man smoking one of his cigars (only done during moments of emotional extreme, due to the difficulties in supply) while in his hands he has Steve's sewing kit and -

"Oh, this should be good," Jim grins.

* * *

They march north for a day together, putting Steve superior to the village, but close enough that he can head back into town the next night - Steve moves a lot faster when it's just him, without normal humans to slow him down.  Steve's still pretty conspicuous, but in Dugan's spare shirt (Steve makes a point of washing it) and with some soot from the fire mixed in with his hair, he'll be disguised enough to try again to meet their Resistance contact.  He's got all the info they took from the eastern facility, too.  

Very early the next morning, the Howlies head out, planning to get to the military installation by just after noon, and as they're leaving, Jacques presses a grenade into Steve's hand.  "For luck," he says, looking misty eyed, and moves out quickly.  Monty shakes his hand, Jim and Dum Dum salute.  Gabe nods, solemnly.  

Bucky gives him a hug.  

They go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim Morita is possibly my favorite Commando. In the movie, when he's just like, "I'm from Fresno" with all the disdain it's possible to fit on a human face... I swooned. So most of the time, when Steve's thinking how much he adores Jim's little asshole heart, that's the writer coming through. I regret nothing.


	2. The Rescue

 

Bucky's in the lead as they get to the fortification, by group agreement.  Monty technically ranks him, but then, Monty technically ranks Steve, too, and he's never shown the slightest inclination to actually take leadership of their troop.  Bucky remembers Monty telling the rest of them that he was it, that the rest of his command was dead, and wonders sometimes if Monty thinks that's his fault.  

So Bucky's up front, calling the shots, telling everybody that their first priority is the rescue.  "We'll empty the place out," he promises, "but second.  We're rescuing the 'Captain' first.  Unless, uh, unless that goes tits up; then, just shoot everybody you can."

The facility is a converted castle, crumbling battlements bristling with modern-day artillery, the guardsmen at the gate in crisp German uniforms looking... _kinda sweaty and paranoid,_ Bucky thinks.  They're expecting someone to come here, someone they fear.   _Probably us, actually._

This being a converted castle, the front appears to be the only way in, with a twelve-foot wall surrounding the premises - clearly the remains of old ramparts.  But looks can be deceiving, and as Monty points out, these fortifications were made to protect the entire populace in case of siege; there will be grounds enough for herb gardens, outbuildings for horses, storage facilities for grain and victuals.  The wall they face goes all the way around the building, but there's most likely a back entrance as well, if the castle has at any point been occupied by a lordling who wanted deliveries of goods to go on somewhere other than right in front of his guests.  

And if worst comes to worst, Bucky can always just jump the damned wall.  Not that he's _talking_ about that, but it's an option.  

They retreat, and go to find the weak spot around back.

The first step of the plan goes  _great._ Soon, Bucky and Jacques are in the kitchen, dressed in pilfered uniforms and pealing potatoes as if they belonged there (and really, Bucky assures himself righteously, they  _do_ belong here; they are doing precisely what needs to be done, and if that's more to do with sussing out the location of the prisoner than with the potatoes, then it ain't nobody's business but theirs.)  

Don't go near the oubliette, they are warned by men who look like they repeat this warning to themselves several times every hour.  Hans got too close to the edge last night, and the prisoner tore him to shreds when he fell in.  No, don't worry about a tray for the prisoner, they're told; the commanders toss him down one of those K-rations the Americans have, although they don't think he has eaten any of them, and they've had him for the last five days.  He drinks the water, they think.  

"Great," Bucky mutters.  "<So he's hungry.>"  He thinks of how much more he needs to eat now, and how much even more than  _that_ the Captain goes through, and he wonders how this fake Captain can stand it.  "<Make that starving,>" he amends.  "Fuck, Steve's gets all kinds of bitchy when he's hungry, what'll _this_ guy be like?"

"<Barnes, do you know what an _oubliette_ is? >"

"<I guess one of the only ways to hold a guy like Cap,>" answers Bucky grimly, but he does actually know what they are, because they feature prominently in the cheap horror stories he loves.  "<There are some only wide enough to stand in, but I would guess this one is larger, or he'd be able to, uh...>"  He does not know this word in French.  He's not sure he knows the word in English.  "To brace himself, to crab-walk up the wall?  <Feet here, butt there, straighten the legs?>"  

"Oui.  <A _large_ pit, then. >" 

There are twenty-one more pounds of potatoes to peel before they can escape the kitchen, and they manage it just before sunset.  They grab the packs they stashed behind a cabinet in the dining hall and book it down to the dungeon, where the prisoner is being held.  

They had all agreed that it would be easier to rescue "The Captain" first, then pull off their assault once they know what condition he's in.  If these guys're holding him successfully, he's probably in pretty bad shape, so the tentative plan is to dump him in a closet or bathroom with a gun while they clean out the joint.  

The oubliette is not hard to find; it's the only place in the dungeon where there's four guys standing guard.  That's not really a problem for Bucky and Jacques, though, and soon there's two dead guards at their feet, one dead guard in the pit (bullet through his heart, _and_ from the sound of it he broke his neck in fall), and one live guard screaming from the floor of the pit.  

"<No, don't!>" he hollers in German.  Bucky is concerned about the sound spreading, and shares a worried look with Jacques.  "<You can't leave me down here!  You don't know what he'll do to me when he wakes!>"

"<Eh, I'm guessing it'll be pretty quick,>" Jacques offers back in the same tongue, and the big baby shrieks like a girl.

"No!  No!  Nooo - !"  

The sound cuts off with a gurgle.  

Bucky and Jacques exchange another look. 

Bucky eases closer to the edge, putting the second part of his plan into motion.  "Hello?" he calls down in English.  

The silence gets a lot tenser, and Bucky swings his pack off, opening it and pulling out a radio.  

"Hey, can you hear me?  Understand me?  Hello?"  There is almost no chance that this guy thinks they're Germans, now.  Even if he doesn't speak English, the nasal American-ness of Bucky's accent is bound to be coming through.  "Hello?"

"I hear you," a voice replies in a growl.  

Bucky passes the radio over to Jacques with satisfaction, then pulls out a coil of rope.  "Great!" he says.  "Look, it's us," he says, in the voice Mildred Gaines used to use with her Gram, who sometimes thought they were her grandkids and sometimes thought they were her brothers and sister.  "Your -" He winces; he _hates_ this name.  "- Howling Commandos?"  

The silence is thick.  

Bucky sets the rope aside and goes digging through the pack until he hits fabric.

"We're here to rescue you, 'Captain America'."  He tosses down the uniform, figuring that even if there's not enough light to see it, the man should be able to feel the star on the chest.

The silence... snickers.  Bucky relaxes and shares a grin with Jacques.  "Alright," the voice agrees,  _definitely_ laughing at them.  "I can't tell from your voices, which of 'my Commandos' have I got up there?"

"Sergeant Barnes and Monsieur Dernier, sir," Bucky grins.  "Put that on; Jacques here is going to radio the rest of the group that we've got you."

He nods at Jacques to do just that, and throws down the rope.

* * *

Probably the biggest surprise is just how much the guy actually _does_ look like Steve.  He has the same blond hair, and he's just as handsome.  They both have slight Hapsburg lips, plump on the bottom, although this guy's is a little fuller.  Their noses are both straight, and their eyes pale, although the stranger has hazel instead of blue, and the color of the uniform is slightly less flattering to him.  Matching pairs of _ridiculously_ good cheekbones.  Bucky tilts his head to the side.  "I can kind of see it," he decides, starting to lead them towards the front entrance, where they will deal with those nervous guards and then to capture some of the big guns to turn on the facility.  "Why they mistook you for him, I mean."

"Speaking of which," the stranger asks in a mid-Atlantic accent, "Where is he?  The actual Captain America?" 

"<Sulking like an abandoned puppy, most likely,>" mutters Jacques, which Bucky ignores.  He sees the strangers eyes track sideways, though, so he probably understands French.  

"We thought he was likely to be spotted, since they've clearly seen those posters and all; might muck up our escape," Bucky claims, voice slightly raised.

"<Especially when the idiot insisted on going in first,>" Jacques adds.  The faux-Captain's mouth is  _definitely_ twitching.  

 _" <Stop that,>" _Bucky hisses.  "He'd make it pretty hard to infiltrate," he adds for the benefit of the other man.  

"I understand," the fake Captain says, straight-faced and serious.  Then he frowns, asking, "Where are we going?"

"Wall out front," Bucky explains.    

"<Six cannons lining the battlements, we will use them to blow these Nazis all to Hell!>"  Jacques isn't _quite_ bouncing, but it's close.

"Plus, we make enough noise out front, these morons don't see Monty and the boys coming in behind them."  Bucky and Jacques had changed out of the pilfered uniforms for the express purpose of not getting shot by their boys coming in from the back.  "That's why you're in the uniform; it's a pretty, shiny distraction."

Captain mid-Atlantic nods his head once like a prince, approving their plan, then moves so fast they can't even see him.  When they get to the gate, the guards are dead, with snapped necks, and there are a lot of thumps and agonized cries coming from the battlements.  The two commandos blink at each other.

"<Well, this just got easier,>" offers Dernier.

Bucky yells, "Hey, we're supposed to be making noise!" and starts shooting as he runs for the wall.  Jacques gleefully goes straight for one of the cannons.

* * *

"That's the signal," Monty informs the others, hearing the artillery start up.  "Let's go."  They head in, taking out anyone who doesn't immediately lay down weapons, herding those who _do_ ahead of them because they can't stop to tie them up.  Jim and Gabe fan out to take the stairs, planning to sweep from the top down.  Dugan finds a water closet, and they lock the prisoners in there, dragging a chair in front of the door knob.  It's mostly house-staff in there, it looks like; the chair should hold them.  

They rendezvous with with Jim and Gabe, who made quick damned work of the upstairs - "Well  _done,_ gents!" - and head into the entryway.  They expect to find a knot of soldiers still shooting it out with the other three, but to Monty's surprise, there is not a damned man left alive - in the hall or the yard.  "What did you do?" he asks Barnes, "Compete for points?!"

A voice, most likely the strange "Captain's", drifts back to him:  "No, of _course_ not," it assures them.

"<Fuck you, I beat Barnes by ten.>"

* * *

"Don't be ridiculous," Bucky lies easily.  "If we'd been competing for points, Captain Not-Steve, here, would have easily beat us both."  

Captain Not-Steve had graciously declined to participate on the grounds that it wouldn't have been fair.  Bucky kinda thought he might be an okay guy.

Monty sighed like each and every one of them had been his own personal headache for the last ten years.  Not true, Bucky thought; only for the last eleven months.  "Does 'Captain Not-Steve' have a name?" he inquired, and Bucky looked over at the stranger.  

"Dunno.  We didn't get to introductions, too busy with the rescue," he admits.  

"I was christened Henry Fitzroy," the man introduces himself.

Monty blinks at him.  "Like the duke?" he asks.

"Yes," says Fitzroy.  "Exactly."  Then he adds generously, looking at Dernier, "I've also been using Henri and Heinrich intermittently, if it's easier."

"Can we call you Hank?" asks Dum Dum.

"No."

It's a very final  _no._

"You know," says Jim, "I kinda like just calling him 'Captain'.  Keeps the Krauts from guessing we've got a fake."

"I think the bagginess at the waist may take care of that," Dugan says, indicating where the borrowed red, white, and blue uniform is, yes, somewhat loose.  They had thought to take up the arms and legs, and the circumference of the thing is pretty much right on, but it can't be denied that the shirt and the inseam are both too long.  

"They would have to get close enough to see it," Henry snarls, lip lifting off his teeth.  

"I think it fits fine, 'Captain'," Bucky assures him.

"Yeah, 'Captain'.  You look good," Jim adds earnestly.  

"Oh, God," says Monty very quietly.

"So, 'Captain', where you from?"

* * *

"Hey, 'Captain'," Dum Dum asks, "how did they get you?"  They're marching back towards the rendezvous now, thankfully prisoner-free:  none of the five were soldiers, and the Howlies had interrogated them and let them go.  It was almost five in the morning, now, three hours left to go until dawn, probably six after that before they reached Steve and the camp.  Couldn't fuckin' come fast enough, to Bucky's mind.

"I was supposed to be meeting a young member of the resistance," Henry explains.  "He was captured, tortured.  He told them about me, about what I can do and how to capture me."  He grimaces, a proud man admitting an error:  "I fell right into their trap."

"Was it an ambush?" asks Monty, voice soft.

Henry blinks at him.  "No, I meant that literally; they laid a false floor over the oubliette, I fell right in."  

* * *

Two hours later, Henry stops walking.  "This is where I leave you," he says calmly.  

"Uh... what?" asks Bucky intelligently.  

"My pack and supplies are in a cave half a mile from here," Henry says patiently, then frowns down at himself.  "Including some spare pants.  I'll hole up there for the day, then meet you at midnight in the village."  

"That's a full day's march away!" Monty objects.  

Henry smiles, closed-mouthed.  "I'm very fast.  There's a pub..."

"We know it," Bucky says.  "It's where we were going to meet... Uh.  Your friend from the resistance."  He gives a little sigh, because this war has killed too god damned many men.  "I guess that won't be happening, now."

Steve had been planning to try again to meet with the Resistance last night.  

 _Don't think about it now,_ he reminds himself.

"We can reconvene there, then," Henry says of the pub, again with that faux-royal dip of his head.

"WAIT!"  Bucky was a Sergeant, now; he could get some fuckin'  _volume_ on his voice when he needed to.

Henry turns, fifteen feet away already, raising one red-gold brow.  

"I need you promise us that you'll meet us there," Bucky says bluntly, "'Cause, look, we went off without Steve  _to rescue you;_ we come back without you, I'm pretty sure he'll kill us all."

Henry's right brow rises to join the left in an expression of disbelief, and the peanut gallery chimes in:

"<More likely, he'll pout the entire way back to base.>"

"<He'll complain, too, about every little thing,>" Gabe adds, "<He's worse than my little sisters.>"

Bucky groans.  "<You all are  _embarrassing me! >" _he hisses, hopefully too quiet for Fitzroy to hear.

Henry smiles.  His teeth are very pale, gleaming out of the darkness and, yeah, he definitely heard that last bit.  "I give you my word," he says solemnly. "I will join you in the village tonight."  His smile widens.  "I wouldn't want _Captain America_ to have to _pout."_

* * *

Steve isn't at the camp.  

He was planning to go back to meet the resistance, he left their stuff here twenty feet up a tree, and he _isn't at the camp._

"He can't've been captured," Jim says in his ear, and Bucky realizes he's hyperventilating.

"They captured _Henry,"_ Bucky snaps.

"By dropping him down an oubliette," Jim points out.  "We just came from the oubliette, do you remember seeing Rogers there?" 

Bucky's hands clench into fists.  

"He said he was going back to town to try again on the resistance," Dum Dum says, reasonably.  "We didn't run into him between here and the castle, so he's prob'ly at some point between here and the village."  

Dernier shimmies out of the tree with their supplies, dropping into a crouch at their feet.  

"Let's go," says Gabe.

* * *

"I'm going to kill him," Bucky breathes.  "That son of a bitch, I am going to _goddamn kill him!"_

"It's so cute the way you two look after each other," Monty observes.  

"You know, we have been on a hard march for the last two days, in between which we  _captured a goddamn castle -"_

"To be fair, we mostly stood around and watched, while  _Henry_ captured a god damned castle..."

"- We were supposed to rendezvous at the  _camp,_ and when we got there he was  _fucking gone -"_

"Well, as reasons for not returning to camp go, you have to admit, this is a pretty good one."

"- And he was out fucking  _joyriding?!"_

Monty tries hard to pretend he's disappointed in Bucky's lack of faith in their commander.  "Just because there are tanks," he says repressively, "Doesn't mean he was joyriding.  And anyway, it's probably our fault for forgetting they had a squad of backup coming to pick up the faux Captain America."

_"I'm going to kill him!"_

Steve, presumably, hears this, because he hops up from where he is sitting at the top of the slope.  

On a tank.  A captured HYDRA tank, presumably, judging by the insignia on the side.  

The tank is sitting next to two more tanks.

It's also next to a tree, with a HYDRA officer tied to it like William Tell's son.  

The slope between him and the Howlies is littered with a dozen tied-up HYRDA goons.  

Steve smiles at them like they're all at Coney Island and they just bought him a cotton candy.  "Bucky!" he calls.  "You're here!"

 _"WHAT THE HELL, STEVE?"_ Bucky had thought Henry Fitzroy moved fast, but he's covered half the slope himself in the space of four words.

Steve's smile turns somewhat sheepish as Bucky gets into easy speaking range.  Really, it's depressingly adorable.  "Yeah, well..."  He scrubs a hand up the back of his neck, shrugs, and beams winningly at him.  "I got bored."  

 


	3. Not Captain America

They put the prisoners in the tanks, and drive the whole mess back to the village.  There, Bucky tells Steve, "Thanks for volunteering to keep watch while we get some shut-eye, buddy, I know we all could use it."

Then he claims one of the rooms they've been offered at the inn - specifically, the one  _Steve's_ paid for - and goes to sleep for as long as he possibly can.

Vengeance is sweet.

* * *

He doesn't come back up to the front of the inn/town hall/pub until eight o'clock, and he's still the first Commando awake.  "Hey," he calls, and Steve turns in his seat the the bar, where he's drinking - huh.  Gin and tonic.  "You know the resistance contact isn't coming, right?" Bucky asks, sitting down next to him.  "<Ale, whatever's handy, please>" he orders in German when the barman approaches. 

"I just like the taste," Steve admits.  "And anyway, this is just soda water."

"Ah."  Bucky rubs some of the sleep out of his eyes, and the barman drops some kind of noodles in front of him along with his ale.  Bucky frowns at it.  "I didn't order this," he observes.

"I did," Steve says.  "For all of you."  His lashes sweep down, his eyes half-lidding.  "I figure, it's the least I can do."  He meets Bucky's eyes again, and Buck can read the apology in them.  "After scaring you all like that, I mean."  

Bucky takes a sip of his ale, and kicks him, gently.  "I figure we should've known better'n to leave you alone, anyway," he says.  

Steve smiles, brightly, and Bucky kicks him again.  

"Does that mean I can go take a nap?" Steve asks, and Bucky rolls his eyes and shoes him away.

* * *

Steve's back down again in three hours, feeling loads better for having had a nap.  "Thanks, Buck," he says, squeezing his friend's shoulder, then sets to as the barman lays food in front of him.  "So," he asks, "Was there any serious strategy being talked about here, or were we still discussing which of you all Gabe's sisters would go for first?"  It's an old subject of discussion, trotted out when they're all tired and have at least one drink in them.  

"I still say it's definitely Jim," Monty insists, right on cue.  "He's by far the handsomest of us."

"But Dum Dum's such a  _dandy,"_ Bucky teases.  "One of 'ems got to see his virtuous heart shining out."

"Speaking of virtuous hearts, do you think any of them would go for our fearless leader?" Jim asks.  

"Nah," they all chorus on cue, and Steve can't help but laugh, tilting his head down.  Thank God he's got these guys with him; he couldn't do this with any other squad.

"They might go for _that_ guy, though," Bucky says, nodding to someone behind Steve, who puts down his fork and turns to see who it is.  "There's something about him..."

If he finishes the sentence, Steve doesn't hear him.  

_"Henry?"_

Henry Fitz, who Steve never would've expected to see on this  _continent,_ much less in this  _village,_ blinks at him.

 _"You've gotta be kiddin' me,"_ Bucky mutters, even though he knows by now that Steve can hear him.

Henry double-takes, like one of those Warner Bros. cartoons; Steve can almost hear it.   _"Steve Rogers?"_ he asks, incredulous.

 _"They_ know  _each other?  They fuckin' know each other.  Of_ course _they do."_

Steve's smile is threatening to break off his face.  "Hi," he says.

Henry's breath huffs out of him.  "Hi," he says fondly.  Then, dazedly, looking at the muscular length of him lounging in the chair, "What the hell happened to you?"

"I got bigger," he answers, dazed.

 _"You couldn't have mentioned this?"_  

Steve turns to him.  "Well, obviously I didn't know Henry was here," he says, confused.  

Bucky looks at him like he's an idiot.

"Oh -  _Oh,"_ Steve says.  He turns back to Henry.  "You never mentioned you were an Enhanced," he says, trying not to sound accusing.  

Henry starts to answer, then pauses and smiles.  It's a very familiar smile, and Steve feels his pulse speed up in answer.  From behind him, he can hear someone's teeth grinding together; he would guess that it's Bucky, and that Bucky does not like this smile at all.

"I would be happy to tell you all about it," Henry says, lying, but very smooth with it.  "Unfortunately, it's classified.  I can tell _you_ , but not the rest of your men.  And not here."  His smile widens.  "Is there someplace private that we can... talk?"  The pause before the word  _talk_ is only detectable if you're listening for it.  

Luckily, Steve is.  "Sure," he says, grinning.  "I've got a room in the back, here.  Just this way."  

He leaves the rest of his dinner untouched, so that Bucky can take revenge on him by eating it.  Sure enough, as he and Henry walk through the door, he hears the plate slide across the table. 

* * *

Henry's on him as soon as Steve closes the door, spinning him around with one strong hand once the latch engages, the other worming its way under the uniform shirt.  Steve puts his hands around Henry's waist and lifts, still turning, so that Henry is pinned between him and the wall.

Henry wraps his legs around Steve's waist and draws their mouths together.  

Steve groans, because it has been _too damned long:_   Too long since he kissed anybody, too long since anybody wanted to be kissed by him - _really_ him, that is, not by Captain America.  He pulls a hand off of Henry - Henry's perfectly capable of holding himself in place, anyway - and puts it under his chin, instead, thumb brushing the pulse point, fingers wrapped around under Henry's ear.  He licks in, tasting Henry again, remembering that old familiar nothing taste - always the strangest thing about him, the way he didn't taste sweet, or sour, or with that "mouth" taste that most men had.  (Alright, two; two other men.  But neither one of 'em tasted like Henry, so the point stands.)  

Or, he didn't used to, anyway.  

Now, there's a veritable explosion of subtle flavors; a little metallic, a little bitter, and with a little hint of something rich and meaty.  There are freaking  _floral notes._

Steve moans again.  "Jesus, Henry, the taste of you!"  

Henry laughs, the little one that makes Steve feel proud every time he hears it.  "Something new there?"

Steve doesn't answer, too busy licking in, trying to chase that  _flavor_ all around Henry's mouth, and finding it everywhere.  Henry hums, and leans in, running the hand he has under Steve's shirt already up higher, finding a nipple and flicking it, hard, with the pad of his thumb.  Steve squeaks, and Henry does it again, and again, and again, until the little nub is sore, burning when his thumb comes back once again.  

Henry bites at his mouth, and Steve whimpers; Henry smiles, but pulls back.  "Take your shirt off," he orders, eyes dark, and Steve has the damned thing off before he even processes letting go of Henry.  He takes the undershirt off, too, and Henry shudders, raising one hand to trace down Steve's neck.   Steve makes an  _embarrassingly_ needy noise, his head falling backwards.

Henry freezes for a long moment.  Then, he releases his knees, dropping to a crouch at Steve's feet.  

Steve looks down, and shivers at the sight he makes, but Henry hears it and looks up at him through his eyelashes.  "One or two?" he asks.

"What?" asks Steve, dazedly.  

"Do you want to go one round," Henry asks, opening Steve's belt, "Or two?"

"I could do two," Steve offers, speculative.

Henry licks his lips, and grins.  "You'll have to be quiet," he warns, pulling everything down and leaning in to suck.  

"Maybe you should make me," Steve dares him.

Henry freezes, his mouth hovering over Steve, breathing a light gust out over the tip of his dick.  Steve feels his own breath rushing heavily from his chest, lungs working perfectly but still like a bellows.

Henry looks up at him again, then lets him go, leaning back.  "Should I?" he asks, voice mild, and his gaze, impossibly, darkens.  "Get on the bed," he orders.  His voice has a matte quality, and Steve knows he's the only one in the inn who can hear it. 

Steve suddenly realizes that he's on the bed.

"The other way," Henry orders.  "On your knees."  

This time, Steve catches it, watching like a passenger as his body moves without him, turning over, getting on hands and knees, legs spreading slightly.  He tries, experimentally, to move a knee back out of alignment.  He finds he can, but he's off balance when he does, so he returns it to its previous position.

 _You said, "make me",_ he reminds himself.   _Don't be surprised just because he actually can._

Although actually, he'd said "make me" to get Henry to shut him up.  He'd specifically been hoping to get a dick in his mouth for that one, but this is... very nice, too, he decides.

He can hear Henry taking off his own clothes, dropping them on the floor next to Steve's.  Then the bed dips as Henry climbs on behind him, slotting in so that his erection slides in the crack of Steve's ass, and Steve groans low.  

Henry fists a hand in Steve's hair, drawing his head back until the front of his throat feels taut.  "You said, 'make me'," he murmurs, echoing Steve's own thoughts.  Steve pants at him, then realizes he's waiting for a response.  

"Yes," he gasps.  He's so hard he's dripping, already, and they haven't even gotten _started_.  

"Steve," Henry says, and Steve can hear the smile in his voice.   _"Be quiet."_

* * *

"D'you think he's actually telling him the truth?" Dugan asks.  

Bucky looks up from his ale, wishing like hell he could still get drunk.  "Who?" he fronts.

"Fitzroy," Jim says, giving him the hairy eyeball.  

"No," says Monty.  "If he were going to tell him the truth, he would have done so back in New York, where I presume they first met."

Bucky shrugs.  "Steve mentioned a friend named Henry back then, but I never met him; _could_ be the same guy."  Bucky frowns.  "Kinda thought he was older."  Then he shrugs again.  "Does it matter?  It's not like any of us'll know either way."  He smiles, but it's pretty sickly compared to his usual.

Gabe takes a drink of his schnapps.  "I wonder what they're saying right now..."

* * *

"Oh,  _god,"_ Steve whispers as Henry's tongue plunges in and out of him.  He shifts the blanket beneath them over a little bit, to give more slack; he keeps tensing and gripping it, and he's worried he'll tear it if he's not careful.  

Henry pulls back and bites one butt-cheek, hard,  _more_ than hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to draw  _blood,_ even, and all that comes out of Steve is an open-mouthed rush of air.  There's a wet sound behind him, and he feels two fingers sink into him up to the second knuckle, crooking and scissoring.  

"Steve," Henry says again, behind him, and the power of his name pulls his head up from where it had been hanging, limply.  "Steve, do you have oil?"

"No," whispers Steve.  "Wait.  Maybe.  Back on the floor, front flap.  Little tin of Vaseline."

"Excellent," Henry purrs, giving his hip a little pat with his free hand before getting up to grab it.  

"Bucky borrows it all the time," he says.  "We share it.  Might not be there."  He wants to grab himself, to fuck into his hand for a minute, but his hands don't want to move, and Steve doesn't want it enough to force the issue.  He just kneels there and drips some more, instead, little beads of precome connecting to the tiny puddle on the blanket like spider silk.  "If not.  Use spit and do it anyway.  I heal."

"You know what the problem with that is?"  Henry sounds very thoughtful, and Steve just  _knows_ the Vaseline is, in fact, missing.  "The problem with that," he comes back to bed holding - huh.  Signal flare.  Steve lets his head hang again and moans deeply as Henry works it into him.  "- Is that my saliva - Are you listening, Steve?"  

Steve nods and pants.  

"- Contains an anticoagulant."  Steve nods and pants some more, hoping Henry will push on the signal flare for him.  "We'll have to use yours," Henry says, and Steve can hear that the smile is back.  "Get off the bed," he instructs him.

Getting off the bed  _does_ move the signal flare, working Steve around it.  Steve would be yipping, but he can't make that much noise, so it comes out muffled and muted.  

Henry stares at him.  "God, you're beautiful," he says, sounding breathless himself.  Then he adds, "Well, you always were, I suppose.  What _happened_ to you?"

"Science experiment.  Army.   _Henry, please!"_

Henry drops to his knees again, sucking him down two-thirds of the way to the base, teeth scraping a little bit.  He wraps his hand around the rest of Steve's length, pumping as he keeps steady suction on what he has in his mouth.  

It doesn't take long; one stroke, two, and then Steve is breathless again because his hind-brain won't let him shout.

* * *

"It's probably not even really classified," Bucky bitches, glaring at his ale.  He's on his fourth, and they're still not making a difference.  He's switching to schnapps next round.  

"I stopped caring fifteen minutes ago," Jim informs him.  "You should go to bed - use my bed, so that you don't barge in on the Captain - and I'll take first watch tonight."

Admittedly, the oblivion of dreams sounds pretty good right now.  Bucky nods agreeably and wanders off.  Behind him, he hears Jacques say quietly, "<I can't believe he actually did it.>"

"<He hasn't, yet,>" Gabe points out, just as quiet.  "<He doesn't know Jim's room is upstairs.>"  

Bucky obediently changes course, heading for the stairs instead, and behind him Gabe says, "<...shit.>"

* * *

"Good.   _God.  Very_ good.  Get it nice and wet, Steve, as wet as you can."  Steve drools obediently around him, even though that last one wasn't the same kind of orders Henry'd been giving before.  Henry curses quietly, the grabs Steve's head and shoves him back so that Steve has to catch himself on one hand.   The other hand is busy, still playing with himself.  That one _had_ been an Order. 

"That's enough," Henry says redundantly.  "On your back.   _Stay quiet."_ Then he smiles, admitting, "I meant on the bed, but oh, well." 

The floor would work just fine.  

Henry tosses one of Steve's knees up towards his chest, pulling the signal flare out quickly - too quickly, really, but Steve doesn't mind - but pauses just before pushing into him.  

"Your uniform," Henry asks, "It's pretty high at the neck, right?"

Steve blinks at him, thrown.  "Yeah," he whispers, "Like a turtleneck."

 _"Good,"_ Henry growls, and thrusts in hard.  

Steve's head smacks backwards into one of the floorboards, which in turn cracks under the impact, but it's just a little crack, nothing that will show.  

It's  _amazing._ Henry growls and thrusts, and Steve's hips rise to meet him, effortless in a way he never was before the serum.  He's still working himself, one-handed, the other braced against the dusty floor as Henry works and works in him, naked chest glinting with a light dusting of red hair, and Steve lets go of himself for a moment just to reach up and touch his cheek, brushing a thumb over Henry's lower lip.  Henry bites the thumb, drawing blood, then lapping at it like a cat, and Steve moans as loud as he can.

"If you.  Like that.  Just wait," pants Henry.  Steve pull his other knee up, too, giving Henry more, pulling him deeper, even though it means he doesn't have much leverage to meet Henry's thrusts anymore.  Henry gets the message, though, going deeper, grabbing on to Steve's knees hard enough to leave bruises, rocking into him once, twice, a dozen more times.  Then he slides home once more, all the way, deep as it gets, and then further, so that Steve's hips rock up with it, leaning over Steve so that Steve can see his teeth, long and sharp.  He keeps driving further until he can reach Steve's throat, his  _neck,_ and then he bites.  Steve feels the teeth come together, feels them rip his flesh, feels the swallow of Henry's throat, and comes all over both of them.

* * *

"So," Steve says some time later, as they're cleaning up.  "Vampire?" 

"Yes," says Henry simply.  He tilts his head to the side.  "I must say, you don't seem terribly surprised."

Steve thinks about it.  "Well," he says, "I knew it would be something strange, because there aren't too many guys strong enough and dangerous enough to be mistaken for me, these days."  He gives a bashful little shrug at that; he still doesn't feel comfortable talking about himself that way.  "Plus, it explains a lot about you."

"Does it?"  Henry tilts his head to the side.  "Like what?"

"Like why I only saw you at night, for starters."

"Well, I did run a bar."

"And why you licked my face when I came in bleeding from that fight."

"That also turned you on."

"And why I found you once climbing out of Sister Agatha's closet."

"Wardrobe," Henry corrects, then frowns.  "I thought you didn't remember that?"

"I didn't,  _then,"_ Steve tells him, sitting down on the end of the bed to put his shoes on.  He's appalled to realize that this whole time, he never took off his socks.  "After the Serum, I found that my recall of childhood memories was a lot sharper.  Did Sister Agatha know about you?"

Henry shakes his head.  "Rose - Sister Agatha -  knew only that I was a very dangerous man who sometimes needed to hide.  I believe she thought I was involved in organized crime."

"That's not a bad cover, actually," Steve muses.

Henry sits down beside him on the bed.  "I'm sorry about Father Nico," he says.

Steve tilts his head back, suddenly making the connection between finding a vampire in Sister Agatha's wardrobe, and the disappearance of Father Nico that night.  "I'm not," he says, "but why'd you do it?"

Henry gives him a sharp look.  "Steve.  Do you _know_ what you had on your neck that day?"

Steve shakes his head.  "I had always assumed water?"

Henry holds up Steve's spare undershirt, which was not nearly absorbent enough for the task they'd set it.  Steve's about to make a comment about it when Henry's meaning hits him.

"Oh," Steve says, and frowns.  "Ew."  Henry looks ready to say something, so Steve barrels on, "Look, thank you.  He was..."  He sighs, but there isn't really a better way to say it, so...  "He was hurting me, and I couldn't stop him.  I wasn't even sure that I  _should_ stop him, because he was a _priest,_ and..."  He bites his lip, then finishes, "You saved me.  And you did it without even knowing my name, without being asked, and without my even knowing you'd done it.  So, thank you."

Henry reaches over, brushing the back of Steve's hand.  "You're welcome," he says, and tugs them both backwards so that they're lying on the bed from the knees up.

After a while, Steve says, "This is technically Bucky's room, too.  I should probably let him in."

"Better hope his nose is worse than most, then," Henry says.  "He'll smell it."  He looks over, meeting Steve's gaze directly.  "That is, assuming you don't want him to smell it."

"He might catch a clue," Steve toys with the idea.  "But, he also might punch my face in."  He smiles tightly back into Henry's face.   "I don't think I'll risk it."

"I don't think he'd punch you," Henry tells him.  "Now that I've met him, that is.  I'm a pretty good judge of those things, after all these years."

"How  _many_ years, by the way?"

"Many.  Don't change the subject."

"Well, I'm not going to change my actions and start flirtin' with my best friend, so changing the subject seems a pretty great alternative," Steve says firmly.  "How many?"

"Look it up," Henry tells him.  "I'm in the history books.  And if you're not going to take my advice, I don't particularly see why I should give you my secrets, too."

"Don't think I _won't_ look you up," Steve says, grumpy.  "Don't think you can just distract me."

Henry leans in and kisses him, once, slow and sweet.  "I would never," he says.  Then he stands.  "I have to go."  

Steve gets up, too, yawning and grinning happily.  "I know," he says.

"What are you so smug about?"

Steve lets his grin widen to become just a bit indecent.  "I can still feel you," he gloats, voice low.  "Probably for the next day, even with my regeneration factor."  He blushes and tips his head to the side a bit.  "It's nice," he says.

Henry snorts at him.  

"Got your bag?"

"I do."  Henry checks his pockets over.  "You gave me all the intel, right?"

He had, tucking it into Henry's bag while Henry was getting dressed.

"I suppose I'm off, then."

"Henry -"

The vampire pauses in the doorway.  

"- Can I stop by your bar when I'm back in New York?  You're buying it back after the war, right?"

Henry's face softens, and he shakes his head.  "You can stop by if you want, but I won't be there.  Still, I expect we'll see each other again some day."  Henry nods at Steve.  "Do you know if your new body ages?"

"I don't know.  Erskine thought maybe not, but..."  Steve closes his eyes against the mental image of Bucky, old and decrepit; of Dernier and Monty with the lines on their foreheads and around their eyes deepened; of Dum Dum with that dead mouse he carries on his face gone white and thin.  "I hope I do," he says fervently.  "God.  I can't do this without them.  I can't imagine just... outliving them."

"You get used to it."  Henry nods his head at him regally.  "Well.  I suppose we'll find out," he says.  "I'll see you then."

And then he's gone.

 

* * *

Notes!

* * *

 

1\.  Actual chronology, I wrote this at the same time as the kiss scene in _THC on HBO,_ and before the sex scenes in _B &VB_ or in _Noun/Verb._ That makes this the first sex scene I've written in about five years, so here's hoping it doesn't suck.  (Please tell me it doesn't suck.)  (Or if it does, how to fix it.)

2\.  I do not actually advocate using spit as your only lube for buttsex.  Unless you, too, have a supersoldier healing factor, in which case, do what you want.  But seriously, there are a wide variety of high-quality lubricants available these days, please make use.  

3\.  I looked it up; Canon Henry gets over to World War II because he's got an  _extremely_ highly-placed friend in the British Government.  Canon Henry also immigrates (okay, to Canada, but obviously we're changing that to New York for this fic) right after WWI, which means that his friend would have been somewhere in the age range of 43+:  Someone Henry knew from a war that ended 25 years before this fic was set; someone who was presumably 18 or older when they met, because the implication is that it's a groin-type friend.  On the other hand, there's no word on how many intermediaries Henry interacted with, so...

 

* * *

After Credits Scene!

* * *

 

Peggy Carter looks through the reports on her desk.  All six Howling Commandos have reported the encounter with an Enhanced named Henry Fitzroy - there were 31 Henry Fitzroys in the American forces alone, she'd counted - who was mistaken by German forces for Captain America due to his incredible speed, enhanced strength, and facial resemblance.  He had, they report, reunited with them in the village, where he indicated previous acquaintance with Captain Rogers, which Captain Rogers confirmed.  Fitzroy then accepted the intelligence intended for the resistance, with whom he was - purportedly - working.  He was gone by the next morning.

Six reports, all agreeing in at least the generalities.  And then there's Steve's report, which mentions absolutely nothing of the kind.  "Oh, Steven," she sighs.

Either, she supposes, Fitzroy possesses memory-altering abilities - possible, although sloppy of him not to get the whole team - or Steve has elected to leave Fitzroy out on his own.  For some reason.  Possibly relating to their previous acquaintance, or possibly relating to the process that had enhanced Fitzroy.

Well.  There's only one way to find out.

Peggy is standing, reaching for her lipstick to touch up before walking out into the camp, when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye.  Between one breath and the next, she has her gun up, pointed at the figure in the corner of her tent.  

Then her eyes widen, taking in the short, stocky build and the golden hair.  And the  _face,_ which, as Sargent Barnes had noted, does in fact resemble Steve's own.  "Mr. Fitzroy, I presume," she says, not lowering the gun as Fitzroy nods, slowly.  "Speak of the devil, I suppose."

"Am I?"

"Pardon?"  There's a strand of hair tickling her face, tucked into the corner of her mouth and sticking to her lipstick after the abrupt whirl.  She tries to tongue it away, but it sticks, stubbornly.

"Am I the devil?"  Fitzroy's eyes are darker than they should be, considering that she can tell (and the reports confirm) that they're hazel, and it's difficult to look away.

Suddenly not in the mood for games, Peggy lowers the gun and brushes her hair back.  "Well, you seem to be fighting for the Angels, so I suppose that's as good as I'll get," she says briskly.  "Was there something you wanted?"

Fitzroy raises his eyebrows at the abrupt change of pace, and his posture relaxes slightly.  "To pass this along.  A response from the resistance, to confirm that they received the intel," he says, holding out a sealed missive.  It's a show of good faith, indicating that the Howlies did not actually turn over classified intelligence to an unknown player, and she appreciates the gesture.  

"That's wonderful, thank you," she says.  "But why didn't you take this to Captain Rogers?  As I understand it, you're well-acquainted."  That wasn't exactly what Barnes had said, but she was well-used to reading between the lines.  

Fitzroy smiles, warm and _very_ amused.  It's... somewhat distracting, to be honest.  "Captain Rogers," he says, "Felt that you would very much appreciate getting it directly from me."  

Peggy's pulse, for some not completely unknown reason, starts pounding in her throat.  She gestures Fitzroy forward, and he steps towards her to place the missive in her hand.  She immediately sets it on the desk behind her, then follows it with her sidearm.  "And what did you want in return?" she asks.  She notices, with a mental startle, that she is looking at Fitzroy levelly; if anything, he's a smidgen shorter than she is.  Odd; his personal presence is much larger. 

Fitzroy nods at the reports on her desk.  "Do you forward all of them?" he asks quietly, "Or do you summarize, and forward that?"

"The latter," she says, coolly.  

"I would appreciate not being in that summary.  Please."  He doesn't make it a command, which she appreciates; she has the feeling that this is a man well-used to commanding others, and not being included in that, like the resistance response, and like the little movement he'd made to alert her to his presence, is a courtesy.  

It's so nice to deal with a courteous man, really.  No wonder he gets along with Steve.

"Mr. Fitzroy," Peggy says, "I can understand your reticence.  Barnes reports you knew Steve in New York, so I can only assume you've had your abilities for quite some time; remaining undiscovered must have taken enormous discretion on your part."

Fitzroy bows his head slightly towards her, an acknowledgement of the truth of that.  

"But you're asking me to lie to my superiors, possibly even as far as the crown."

"No," Fitzroy smiles at her, and this smile is still warm and amused, but also _very_ sharp.  "I have a friend who would stop it before that."

 _Well, that's... breathtaking._  

The information  _and_ the smile, frankly.  

"Nevertheless.  I'm afraid you haven't quite earned that kind of favor from me yet."  She shrugs at him, not nearly as indifferent as she appears.

Fitzroy's smile widens.  "And what," he asks, voice so soft she finds herself leaning forward to hear it, "Would I have to do to earn that?"

Peggy gives him her own red-lined smile, and tells him.

 


End file.
